A/N: Wow, thanks for all the lovely reviews! I don't think I have much to say about this chapter, so I hope you like it! There's a scene later on in a flashback that's invented but meant to take place in Deathly Hallows…so just a head's up. Thanks for reading!
Where Elizabeth Stood
Chapter 3-The Burden of Decision
Time had a curious way of speeding along in great spurts only when Hermione was helping with the wedding plans. Elizabeth had seized upon Luna's suggestion of having the wedding on the autumnal equinox, "For luck," Luna had said serenely.
Hermione rolled her eyes, again reminded of the reason she'd dropped Divination in school. The notion that marrying one day compared to another made any difference at all was absurd, but Hermione was more annoyed that no one seemed to realize this meant the happy even would take place just four days after her own twenty-third birthday.
But she had little time to dwell on this, as she had thrown herself into wedding preparations with the fervor dictated by her position as Maid of Honor. There was so much to decide and so many logistics to cover that she finally understood Mrs. Weasley's
stress during the preparations for Bill and Fleur's wedding.
At the very least, helping Elizabeth remember gown fittings and choose table cloth colors allowed Hermione to keep her former resolve not to spill the beans to Harry. In fact, in those rare moments when it was just herself and Elizabeth, Hermione could almost forget whose wedding she was preparing and actually started to enjoy it. Planning was her thing, and she had to admit that the lack of danger of dragons or incarceration involved definitely brought down her anxiety level.
The more time Hermione spent alone with Elizabeth the more she was reminded of why they had become friends in the first place. Elizabeth was like some red-haired, black-eyed version of Hermione herself, a charming and confident Hermione that might have been if she hadn't hidden behind her books for the first decade of her life.
But at times it seemed trouble was brewing in paradise as well, which only succeeded in rousing Hermione's deepest feelings of guilt. The Daily Prophet, revamped since the end of the war, still could not resist touching on the nuptials of Britain's happiest couple-as well as sensationalized reports of feuds between Harry and Elizabeth.
Hermione knew too much about tabloid stories to be much bothered, but Elizabeth, who had never, as far as Hermione was aware, come across a Rita Skeeter in her life, was outraged by any negative press that stretched the bounds of truth.
One story in particular, detailing Harry and Ron's supposed plans for his stag night educed the ire of Elizabeth so thoroughly that Hermione and Ron had to avoid Grimmauld Place for an entire afternoon while Elizabeth vented her displeasure upon her fiancé. Having been one of very few occasions where the red head lost her temper, Hermione sensed that there were some feelings of insecurity mingled in there underneath the confident exterior. That was the only justification she could make for the extreme behavior-Elizabeth's tears, tantrums, and threats in Hermione's mind could only be otherwise explained by a want in trust in Harry. To be honest, Hermione didn't know what to believe, but, considering herself somewhat an authority on the subject of insecurity, she found it difficult to reconcile it with Elizabeth's actions as much as she wanted to.
Hermione could never imagine not trusting Harry, and when these wonders once more gave way to her true feelings of him, the guilt returned like the constant companion it was. She wanted him happy above all things, but even she could see the harmful effect Elizabeth's charms sometimes had on him. She was a woman extremely skilled at being everything to everyone, but also clever enough to guarantee her own way on every whim. It was hard for Hermione to see Harry's will sometimes bent so that he was gradually made to be in complete agreement with his fiancée, despite holding the opposition before.
With these thoughts at the back of her mind, she returned to the task at hand. She and Elizabeth and Ginny were stationed in the kitchen with piles of letters and a long piece of parchment all around them on the table, discussing Ron's rather amusing musical entertainment during Harry's birthday party a month before.
"I swear, if he weren't dating Luna I would have some serious doubts as to his sexual leanings," laughed Ginny as Hermione and Elizabeth both collapsed into giggles. "Neville for two, his gran's coming as well," she said.
Hermione nodded and duly noted the two names on the long list of wedding attendees on front of her.
Elizabeth sighed. "Ah, RSVPs, never an easy or exciting task. I can't believe Harry and I even know this many people," she said in surprise, scanning the list over Hermione's shoulder. She herself was composing thank-you cards for the mountain of presents she and Harry had received already.
Ginny glanced at Hermione across the table, something that she had taken to doing every time Elizabeth referred to herself and Harry as a unit. Hermione steadily ignored her. The youngest Weasley had not given up trying to persuade Hermione to tell Harry how she felt about him, and Hermione was having a hard enough time trying to quell not only the feelings for her best friend but those of guilt that arose anytime she particularly enjoyed herself in Elizabeth's presence. It was all very confusing, and she thought from time to time that if her emotional range were any longer, she would probably explode.
A sudden exclamation caused her and Ginny to jump in their sheets. The quill drew a long black line across the margin of the parchment as her hand jerked.
"Oh no! Hermione! I just remembered: your birthday is coming up! Why didn't you say something?" Elizabeth scolded playfully. Hermione would never tell her the real reason for staying mum on the subject of her birthday-she secretly was wondering if anybody would even notice-but it didn't matter, since Elizabeth was already constructing grand plans for Hermione's birthday, "a last little hoo-ha before the wedding" in lieu of a hen night.
Outside the world of floral arrangement, not all of Hermione's life was rosy. The next two weeks passed much too slowly for her liking, and often she lay awake at night, not wishing for sleep but that somehow she could speed up the Earth's rotation.
There were so many things time could do: run out, drag, fly, wait for no man, change, be up. There were times, in the refuge of her darkened bedroom, that Hermione thought she might be making a mistake, that perhaps it was her duty to ensure her own happiness as well as Harry's.
But she couldn't quite decide, and she knew that if no resolution could be reached alone in the dark, then her nerve would definitely fail her in front of the man she loved. And that's when she began to will time to pass more quickly, to remove the burden of decision. Sometimes she would just hold the simple gold wedding band that Elizabeth had selected for Harry and entrusted her to hold and imagine what it would feel like to be the one to place it on his finger.
The sleepless night began to take a toll on her, as Ron was so kind to comment a few days later.
"You look like hell, Hermione. Elizabeth isn't running you ragged on all this wedding stuff, is she?" he said as they sat facing one another at the kitchen table. "Oh, and happy birthday, by the way," he added as an afterthought, toasting her with his large glass of firewhiskey.
She let out a sardonic laugh and raised her glass to return his toast. "Gee thanks, Ron, just what a girl wants to hear. And no, Elizabeth hasn't been 'running me ragged,' it was she who did all this for me, actually," said Hermione, waving a vague hand behind her at all of the scarlet and gold streamers that adorned every doorway to celebrate Hermione's birthday. Elizabeth had even charmed confetti to fall from the ceiling but disappear before it reached the heads of the guests.
Noise from the party in the living room increased as someone opened the door to the kitchen. Hermione and Ron glanced up to see the identity of the intruder.
"Harry, mate!" called Ron in too loud a voice. "Why don't you come have a little drink-chat with Hermione and me, here. Drinks all 'round!"
Hermione caught Harry's eye and neither bothered to stifle a grin. Ron always became exceptionally genial when under the effects of firewhiskey. Hermione could almost tell how many drinks he had had by how shiny his eyes were or the redness of his face.
Harry adopted a put out expression and answered, "Ron I'd love to but I can't. I just came to grab some more butterbeer." He looked back at Hermione and said, "Figured it might be prudent to stop serving the B-O-O-Z-E," spelling the last word so that Ron wouldn't catch on. Hermione nodded in agreement.
"Butterbeer!?" Ron exclaimed in revulsion. He looked down at his glass and became distracted. Holding up his glass, he said, "Hey Harry, since you're up, pour us another cup of the good stuff, would ya?"
Harry obediently re-filled Ron's glass and slid a glass of water across the table as well. Picking up the tray of butterbeer, he made to return to the party raging in the living room. "Oh!" he said, pausing and shifting the tray on his arm. "Hermione, I almost forgot to wish you happy birthday. Here I got you something."
With his free hand digging in his pocket, Hermione protested, "Harry, you didn't have to get me anything."
"I know," shrugged Harry, finally retrieving the package from his robes. "But I wanted to."
He slid the long and slender box in front of her on the table and for a second Hermione just stared at it. Harry had never given her anything for her birthday but practical books or maybe candy when they were younger.
"Open it already," said Ron impatiently after about three seconds.
She rolled her eyes and picked up the package to remove the single blue ribbon around it, noticing distantly that her hands were shaking slightly. Carefully and with movements that seemed so exaggeratingly slow that they were almost painful, she removed the lid and promptly gasped.
Maybe it was the subtle lighting in the room, but there in the center of a surface of navy felt was the most brilliant sapphire she had ever seen attached to a chain of pure silver. It wasn't big, but then she didn't think Harry would figure her to wear something gaudy. "It's perfect," she breathed, feeling tears that if completely sober she might have been able to restrain prickle in her eyes. She beamed up at him. "Thank you so much, Harry," she said, rising to give him a one-armed hug.
"Yeah, it's your birthstone, according to Elizabeth. We both picked it out. Anyway, gotta get back before our friends start to riot!"
Within two seconds, he had gone, opening and shutting the door so that there was another swell of volume. Hermione plopped back down on her chair, her good spirits having departed with Harry. She chewed her lip as though to bite back the urge to cry; stupidly she had attached too much meaning to Harry's birthday gift, when of course no man would ever pick a nice piece like that out for her, or know anything about birthstones.
Ron cleared his throat uncomfortable with the tension that seemed to have suddenly arisen in the kitchen. Hermione ignored him, stewing in annoyance at herself, and struggled to hook the chain with the hanging sapphire behind her neck. Finally she managed and she glanced up at Ron to find him staring at her strangely.
"What?" she said self-consciously.
"So how are the wedding plans going?" he said unexpectedly.
Hermione frowned at him wondering why on earth he had brought up the wedding when it looked like he had something else on his mind. "They're fine," she said slowly. Then she thought, what the hell. Ron was her best friend, if she couldn't confide in him, there weren't many others to turn to. "Actually, they're not fine," she confessed, seizing Ron's glass and taking a mighty swig. "I'm having a lot of fun and am really enjoying Elizabeth's company," she finished miserably.
Now it was Ron's turn to frown. "And that's a problem because?"
She sagged as the last vestiges of the whiskey burned its way down her throat. Her nerve died, she couldn't say it. "Oh, no reason," she said quietly.
"Because you love Harry," Ron said seriously.
She said nothing, there was nothing she could say. At this point she wouldn't have been able to deny it even if she had wanted to. Finally, she cleared her throat and without meeting his eyes, she asked, "Is it that obvious?"
"Well I've had an idea since the cup," he stated plainly.
Hermione looked up at him sharply. They had silently agreed never to discuss what had happened in the moments before Hermione destroyed the Horcrux contained within Hufflepuff's cup, and until then the issue had never come up. Hermione suspected that the alcohol had helped loosen their tongues. But as though Ron's words had unlocked a gateway, the memory of it came flooding back.
"Here, maybe you should do it," he said nervously, motioning to the basilisk fang in her hand. He bent over a flat rock that was about at waist level and gingerly laid the cup on its base.
The small cup trembled at Ron's words as though it was aware that its fate was near. It almost looked like a small struggling and helpless animal and Hermione involuntarily felt a surge of pity for it. If she destroyed the Horcrux, she would also be destroying a priceless bit of Hogwarts history.
Ron seemed to sense her hesitation and said in an uncharacteristically serious and sharp tone, "Hermione, if anything..happens, just remember that it's not real."
She tore her eyes away from the shuddering cup at Ron, who looked suddenly fearful. There was no mistaking the warning in his voice and she wondered what he might know about the destruction of Horcruxes that she didn't. But before she could ask, she was distracted by a billowing mist that was emerging from the hollow part of the cup. It seemed to hover for several moments as though considering the pair of wizards and then began to materialize properly. Hermione was drawn inexplicably forward as the form sharpened to resemble Harry.
She gasped and to her left, Ron groaned. Without taking her eyes off of the figure of her best friend, she took another step forward and said in a voice barely audible, "Harry?"
But it was Harry as she had never seen him. His hair was well managed and he was wearing smart robes that actually fit him properly. He seemed taller somehow, or maybe it was that he seemed to radiate total confidence and contentment, and this countered the weight on his shoulders. But what was strangest of all was the indifferent gaze he turned towards her and the barely detectable disdain in his voice when he said, "Oh, it's you."
She frowned, not fully understanding his behavior. "Harry, what--?"
"Don't listen to it, Hermione," Ron said firmly, making a move to grab her arm, which she had just realized was outstretched toward the form of her best friend. "That's not Harry," he said with a certainty that broke through her confusion.
As though responding to Ron's words, Harry said, "You know, Ron and I were only friends with you because you could help us with our homework. We even used to laugh about it behind your back. We always said that once school was done, we'd have no more use for you. That's the only reason I brought you along with me, so that you could do all the hard stuff."
She gasped again and Ron's hand squeezed tighter around her forearm. "Hermione, do it, do it now!" he shouted without looking away from Harry.
But she was frozen, unable to believe the cruel words coming out of Harry's mouth and yet unable to banish them entirely. She stood beside Ron, gazing up transfixed by Harry's relentless stream of hurtful insults.
"Does it make you feel wanted, Hermione? That the Boy-Who-Lived needs your help? Does it make you feel that you have a purpose, that you haven't failed everyone around-especially your parents?" the floating Harry taunted. His eyes looked her up and down in a harsh appraisal that made her shudder. "As if I could ever want you," he said, giving an unkind laugh when he noticed the tears gathering in her eyes.
She felt Ron's breath in her ear, his words uttered hurriedly like a mantra he was saying to convince her and himself. "Don't listen, it's not real. You have to destroy it Hermione. It's not Harry, Harry would never say that-it's not true, it's not real!"
Surprised to find that she was still gripping the basilisk fang in her right hand, she clenched her fingers around it as though attempting to imbibe its strength. With Ron's words running through her mind, she raised the fang like a dagger over the still-trembling cup.
The Cup-Harry sensed the danger at once and continued his merciless torture, laying bare every insecurity Hermione possessed. She stepped boldly forward, feeling courage she didn't know she had flowing through her veins and bolstering her confidence. Without a word or acknowledgement to the figure floating above her, she slammed the fang through the side of Hufflepuff's cup. Cup-Harry let out an anguished scream before being swallowed by an explosion of light erupting from the cup.
Hermione and Ron were thrown backwards and landed hard on the stone flow of the Chamber. Their chests still heaving from the violent throw through the air, they looked at each other in shock. At once they stood up and ran to the stone on which the last heirloom of Helga Hufflepuff lay charred and dented beyond repair.
Silently Hermione reached for the wrecked Horcrux, not sure what she was looking for. Ron stood beside her, quiet for a few minutes before saying, "Harry would never say any of that. And besides, none of it is true."
She wanted so desperately to believe him, but the Cup-Harry had struck a nerve on a fear that she had been trying to dispel for years. To have it so cruelly lain out by something that so closely resembled her best friend was, needless to say, unexpected. Just to have something to fill the silence, she replied, "I know."
Distant booms and crashes from explosions overhead reached them deep in the Chamber, drawing them from their thoughts. Simultaneously they realized that they were another Horcrux down and Hermione knew that the expression of hope on Ron's face was mirroring her own.
With a swell of sudden optimism, Hermione grabbed Ron's sleeve and said, "Come on, let's gather the rest of these fangs and go find Harry."
Hermione had buried that memory deep, long ago when she was a different person. Bringing it to the surface now, she was able to see everything from a whole new perspective. Although she might not have loved Harry at the age of eighteen, preserving his well-being and having his good opinion meant a great deal to her, more than it probably should have for a girl who claimed to be nothing more than a friend. For once, she thought Cho and even Ginny had a point in being slightly wary of her close friendship with Harry. She was simply too close to the matter to see it clearly.
"So you know then," she said with a sigh, unable to keep from slumping in her seat from the weight of revelation on her shoulders.
Ron shrugged, probably as unwilling to dredge up the past as she was. "I had my suspicions. You always seemed to care so much for him and you couldn't go five bloody minutes without mentioning him. Oh, I know you didn't love him then," Ron said as Hermione opened her mouth to argue. "But it was sort of a matter of time, wasn't it?" He let out a dry laugh and Hermione felt a surge of affection toward him. The man before her now had matured from the one she'd walked out on (metaphorically, since they still technically lived in the same house) that January morning. He seemed more understanding.
Ron grasped one of her hands and she marveled at the change brought on by time. A few years before, Hermione would have wanted nothing more than for Ron to hold her hand like this, for Ron to understand her at last. Time had changed and matured things and yet Hermione was still pining away for her best friend. But rather than making him jealous or becoming angry at him, she would be the best friend she could be, which meant ensuring that he was happy
With the memory of the destruction of the Horcrux still fresh in her mind she wondered to herself how Ron had known what to expect with the cup. "Ron," she said with a frown, waiting for him to meet her gaze before continuing uncertainly, "did something similar happen to you when you destroyed the locket?"
He nodded seriously. "Something like it, yeah."
Despite her curiosity, Hermione knew Ron didn't want to elaborate. For a while, the pair said nothing. The festive sounds from the living room were dying off as party-goers departed one by one.
."So you're not going to say anything to him?" asked Ron.
Hermione shook her head dismally, tears beginning to form in her brown eyes. "If he's happy with her-"
"He'd be happier with you," said Ron steadily, gripping her hand.
Hermione shook her head once more and said rationally, "We don't know that. We don't know how he feels about me." The small measure of hope that Ron would contradict her and miraculously declare that Harry actually loved her was crushed when all the red head did was stare at her in sympathy.
"I guess everything in life requires some kind of sacrifice then," said Hermione after a pause. She looked at Ron across the table sadly, surprised to feel tears finally coursing down her cheeks.